


Love Love Love

by acurseshecannotwin



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Swan Queen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-07 09:38:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acurseshecannotwin/pseuds/acurseshecannotwin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cause you love, love, love . When you know I can't love you — Swan Queen, Post Curse, AU from there. Angsty, Rating to be Save. One Shot, Complete. Please Review :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I don't know, if you have heard of "Of Monsters and Men" or their song Love Love Love, but I highly recommend you to check it out/listen to it while reading this One Shot. When listening to it for the very first time I thought it would fit well to a Swan Queen Angsty-Fic, and this is what followed. Set Post-Curse, but AU from there on. (Song can be found, here on youtube /watch?v=3IhI87arSAE)
> 
> AN2: I want to thank my wonderful Girlfriend Katie for staying up with me until past 3am this morning while I wrote this piece.
> 
> AN3: I don't own Swan Queen, or Once Upon a Time, borrowing for creative purpose only.
> 
> Enjoy & Please Review!

Well, maybe I'm a crook for stealing your heart away.

And maybe I'm a crook for not caring for it.

Yeah, maybe I'm a bad,bad,bad…bad person.

Well, baby I know.

 

Sometime between midnight and dawn, cloaked in silence and darkness, steady feet, desperate not to make a sound, travel across hardwood flooring; having memorized a long time ago where the old wood creaks and where it's safe to step. You don't breath, not until the faint click of a door closing behind slumped shoulders echoes through the night. You know it's wrong, leaving her alone, leaving her to pull herself together once she wakes up and notices you are gone, again.

And yet, relief floods your system, drowns the guilt with each step you take through the night, leading you away from her and the empty promises you both wanted to believe so desperately. You know already, that you'll ignore her, avoid her for the next day or two. Long enough for her to put the pieces back together, to wipe tears and pain off her face, knowing those would break your resolve. Something that can't happen, something you know she wishes for, and that's why you'll hide as well as you can in the small town of Storybrooke.

The first rays of sunlight dance along the treetops as you reach the place you call home, just as silently as you left hers you sneak in, unnoticed by anyone. It's pointless to lay down now, to pretend that you slept the whole night seeing as they'll wake soon, expecting you to join them for breakfast, just like a proper, normal family would do. Not that your family is normal, nor have you fully accepted having it yet but that doesn't matter, not in their eyes it seems. They are trying and so should you. It's not that you aren't trying, you do. You really are trying; it's just a lot to take in. Suddenly you have a son, a son that was obsessed with a curse you help him to break, only to discover that he was right all along. The Evil Queen had in fact cursed all fairy-tale characters, including your parents. Snow White and Prince Charming. You love them, you do but unlike them you don't see the world in only black and white. They don't know it, but you disagree a lot with their beliefs on good and bad, knowing from experiencethat there is always more to it.

As you settle at the kitchen counter, a bowl of cereal in front of you, a now familiar pair of feet flies down the stairs.

"Morning 'Enry" you greet your son, around a spoonful of milk and fruit loops.

"You're up early Ma" he comments. You merely shrug, unable to find a believable excuse quick enough.

"Have you seen Regina lately?" he continues; it stings you think. That he forgot everything she did for him so quickly. It's like she has never been his mother, not in his eyes anyways. But you know different, know that she was—is him a better mother than you'll ever be.

"No, I haven't." the lie comes easily, smoothly. "Why?"

"Who know what she's up to" he shrugs. "She could plan another curse, or something"

You know she isn't. Not that she wouldn't have all reason to do so.

"I don't think she does. She knows she would lose you completely if she did", he wants to disagree, wants to argue that she already has lost him, but he knows better. Not willing to have the same argument again. With time, you know he'll agree with you. See how hard his mother tries to be good enough for him. You just hope that he does before it's too late.

"I think he's right" Charming. Your father. Of course he thinks Regina is up to something, because people can't change, and if they do it's never for the better. You ignore him and his comment as you put your bowl into the empty sink and reach for your red leather jacket.

"You're going?"

"Obviously" you state, unable to hide the annoyance in your voice. "Someone has to go and make sure that the Evil Queen is still Evil, right?" you ask, eying Charming and Henry, only one meeting your yes in silent agreement. Your father will never change. But your son still can, he should know that people can change, having witnessed how you changed over the span of one year. And you'll be damned if he won't accept Regina as his mother again, if only to ease the guilt.

You don't go to see the former Mayor, like you told them you would, because you can't. Knowing that by now she once again found herself alone. Nevertheless you leave, push your yellow Beetle beyond the town line, enjoying it to be able to leave the small town unaffected. You don't drive far; you don't need to. Just a few miles before the town line you turn left onto a deserted track. It's not the first time you've come here, given that this has become your place to think, far away from everything. Here you aren't the Saviour, not the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming or the birth mother of the Evil Queens adopted son. Here you are just Emma, alone with yourself and your thoughts.

It had started the night the curse had broken, fuelled with anger and fury you had stormed into her house, ready to do god knows what to the woman that ended the chance you would have had at a life with your parents. You found her curled around a pillow, on Henry's bed. Seeing her for the first time for what she truly was. Not a fearsome Mayor, or the Evil Queen, but a broken woman. She hadn't acknowledged you, hadn't even spared a glance towards your direction. You knew she would have taken everything you would have thrown her way, she had expected everything, but not what you did.

Forgotten the fury, the "you did this", you had knelt down next to her, had searched her eyes as the words neither of you would have expected to hear left your lips.

I am sorry.

She had wanted you dead, or under the sleeping curse, she had caused the curse that had separated you from your parents, she had endangered Henry. And yet you had tried to comfort the woman that had caused misery to so many.

Bloodshot eyes stared questioningly at you, daring you to tell her that you didn't mean it, daring you to crush the hint of hope that had just settled into deep brown orbs.

Later, you told yourself that you weren't thinking rationally, that you saw yourself in her, and yet you still believe the words you had told her next, still believe in her answer.

You never wanted for any of this to happen, did you?

You left out whether you meant Henry, the curse, or her becoming the evil Queen, but she nodded anyways,probably agreeing to all three, if not to more. It didn't matter, and still doesn't today. But what happened next does still matter.

You pulled her into your arms, offered her the comfort she needed, the comfort you craved yourself. She didn't fight you, didn't even try to push you away. Instead her arms flung around your neck, clinging desperately to you as she sobbed into your shirt. You held her, the whole time, her hands rubbing soothing patterns across her back. Eventually she calmed, not seeming the slightest bit embarrassed about her emotional outburst. She had lost her mask. Gone was the cold façade, the Mayor, the Evil Queen, leaving nothing behind but the broken remains of what she once had been. And that was when you had actually felt it.

Sympathy.

She had told you her story, had told you everything from Cora, to Daniel, to Snow, to the bastard masquerading as a king that apparently had been your grandfather, and finally Rumpelstiltskin. You understood her, thought that you would have done the same. What other possibilities did she have? Being pushed in a certain direction from the very beginning doesn't leave you with many options.

You kept silent the whole time, seated onto the very couch you had sat upon the day you had first met her, in her study. She had offered you a drink, merely searching for an excuse to drink herself. Leaving you to sit across from her, only listening to what she had to say. You knew she needed it, needed someone to listen to her, and you couldn't stop the nagging feeling that all this could have been prevented if someone would have taken the time to look behind the always controlled features.

Later that night, you understood why she had told you all this, why she had showed her vulnerable side to you. She had though that they would come for her, would have her head for what she did. She didn't believe you, her suddenly so warm brown eyes were filled with doubt whenever you ensured her that you wouldn't let them hurt her, that you would protect her, stand up to the Charmings – your parents, if needed to. Hesitation and pain never left her expression, but her rigid form slumped regardless, exhaustion finally making its appearance.

She fell asleep shortly after, her body having reached its limits. Before she could collapse against you and trap you there at her the couch in her study, you half carried, half dragged her up the stairs, towards her bedroom, eventually placing her on top of the queen-size bed. Thinking her to be deeply asleep you wrapped the sheets around her, in an oddly caring manner so she wouldn't freeze. Once you were done, you turned around, read to leave. That's when you had realized that she hadn't been as asleep as you had thought her to be.

Don't leave.

A quiet plea as loud as rolling thunder in the surrounding silence.

I can't.

No you couldn't. You knew it would only be so long before your newly found parents would come looking for you.

Please. Please, stay.

You stayed. Leaving Snow and Charming with a text, claiming it all was too much, that you needed a moment alone, a moment to think. Only telling half a lie.

You stripped down to panties and your trademark tank-top before you slipped under the sheets next to her lithe frame, knowing right then and there how wrong it was, despite it feeling so right. You ignored the voice inside your head telling you to stop, to not get attached to Regina Mills, as you pulled her into your arms.

I never hated you.

Silence followed her words. No, you hadn't hated her either. She had been a challenge, despicable, but you hadn't hated her. Not once.

I felt threatened. I feared that you would take the last bit of happiness I had left from me.

Again, you had decided to only listen. Knowing any word from you wouldn't help her. Instead you tightened your grip around her.

Without you, I wouldn't have Henry.

That was when your resolve broke, when she finally managed to provoke a reaction from you.

Regina stop!

She faltered, surprise washed across her features as she turned to face you.

I wanted to take Henry. I wanted to take him from you. I had no rights to him, but I wanted him to be my son, not yours. Mine.

Her eyes glossed over, briefly reminding you of a soap bubble, shining beautifully before it pops, spilling it's remains everywhere. That's when you thought it was over, when she would ask you to leave because you'd managed to hurt her one last time, because you'd reached the tip of the iceberg.

I had Henry because of you, in the first place.

She buried her face in your neck, before sobs wracked her body once more. You wanted to tell her how sorry you are, that Henry will come around, that he is still hers, you wanted to tell her everything, it didn't matter what, as long as she would feel better.

I love you.

It's a whisper, but loud enough to be caught by her ears. She quieted down immediately, though you still could feel tears falling hot against your skin. Your words were empty, you both knew it the second they had left your lips, but it was what she had needed, had craved so desperately. When she looked up, searching your eyes, you should have regretted saying those words. But you couldn't, not with something close to hope taking over deep brown orbs.

Later you had told yourself that you were helping her, that she had needed to hear those words, that she had craved for them all her life. Still, you never, not even till now, managed to shake off the feeling that you weren't much better than those who had made her the evil queen. Not even your good intentions could change that.

You stopped to think, stopped to try to figure out what was the right thing to do when her lips found yours. Her fingers tangled themselves in your hair, pulling you closer, holding you in place. Even then, as you could taste the tears on her lips, she feared that you would go, and leave her. But you didn't. Not then. Your hands moved from her back towards her hips, melding Regina's form further into yours. The tears had stopped, instead you could feel a soft smile gracing across her lips, you were desperate to keep it there you parted your lips, giving the former Queen permission to deepen the kiss. It wasn't about control, not like you always had imagined it would be with the former Mayor, but then, she wasn't the Mayor anymore. She took her time, exploring your mouth, exploring you, memorizing as much as she could, before it would be over.

Her fingers had left your hair, had found a hint of skin on the small of your back instead, where the tank top already had ridden up. Eagerly, soft fingertips had explored your back, had pushed up the top further and further. You knew, she needed this, needed this to feel. Carefully, you had allowed your hands to travel to the front of the blouse she still had been clad in, to open button after button, whilst your lips never left hers.

Clothes discarded quickly, tank-top, blouse, her dress-pants and your bra had found a new place on the floor, surrounding her bed. You couldn't deny — not then, and not now, how great it had felt to have the Evil Queen, the monster out of Grimm's fairy-tales, explore every inch of your skin. She was a human being, a broken woman desperate for love, cruel circumstances and people had shaped her into the monster she had become, vanished along with the breaking of the curse, a hint of the forbidden still lingering within her.

Your fingers travelled along the black lace of her bra, brushed across lace-clad breasts, causing her to push herself further into your touch.

Moments later, her bra had joined yours on the floor and you found your lips attached to her skin, exploring, kissing, marking it. Your fingers had travelled from firm breasts and pert nipples over her taut abs, low enough to sense along the edge of black lace panties.

Please.

A plea. A moan.

Your fingers had disappeared below the lace-waistband, had travelled further as your lips parted around a nipple. She needed this, that's why you were there. That's why you gave her what she craved. The feeling to be wanted,to be loved. Your fingers had disappeared within her warmth, your teeth sinking simultaneously into soft skin, had caused her to ache off the bed, a silent scream to leave her lips. Long fingers had woven themselves again into your long tresses, pressing your lips against her soft skin.

Quickly, you had built a steady rhythm, with the heel of your hand pressed against her clit, offering needed friction.

Moans filled the silence as she met you trust for trust.

A firm tug at your hair had stopped your lips from traveling any further across smooth skin.

I need you.

You followed her wish, and sealed her lips with yours, swallowing each groan. She was close, her muscles pulling you further in, working around your fingers, paired with her nails marking your back told you that it wouldn't take long for her to fall over the edge.

Your lips left hers, only to reattach themselves to her soft skin, following the expanse of her neck.

I've got you.

You breathed below her ear, and it was enough to send her flying. Her face buried into your neck with her teeth attached to your shoulder, she came undone. With her scream muffled against your skin, you stilled the movement of your fingers.

You mistook the expression of post-orgasmic bliss for happiness, and watched relieved how she fell asleep moments later, wrapped around your frame, a soft smile lingering on her lips. You didn't sleep, couldn't. You had remained awake until you were sure she was fast asleep, not waking up this time. Carefully you had rolled off the bed, had searched for your bra, jeans and tank-top. Quietly you had managed to leave the bedroom, only to silently curse every time the hardwood flooring creaked under your weight. Eventually, you had reached the front door, had found your red leather jacket and boots she had asked you to put there earlier, and then you had done what she had feared the most.

You had left. Left like everyone else.

It had taken you a week, to return to the mayoral mansion to see how she was doing. To your surprise, she had invited you in, had offered you her cider, had promised that it wasn't poisoned, had laughed about her lame joke. She had seemed so small, so fragile.

After that night, it had become a habit. Every two to three days, you would appear at her door at nightfall. Every time she would invite you in, would offer you her cider, or something to eat. Some days you would take her up on those offers, on others you wouldn't. You promised her love, promised her to have her back, to stand by her side, you gave her hope. She believed your words each night, knowing as well as you how shallow they were.

I love you.

She had breathed one night, meaning her words unlike you. The fear, threatening to spill from beautiful brown orbs had been proof for their truth. You had left immediately, leaving her to call after you that she didn't mean it, that she wouldn't say them again. It had taken you five days, to accept that she would love you, knowing that you couldn't love her, so you returned. Promising her love and hope again, giving her what she craved the most only to disappear before the crack of dawn, to break her more and more each time.

 

'Cause you Love Love Love.

When you know I can't love you.


	2. a Ghost before the Wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for the Kudos :) That meant much to me! I know, I had promised a happy Ending, but before that I had wanted to explore Regina's thoughts and emotions regarding their situation.
> 
> AN2: Thank you to Katie for reading over it and giving me all her thoughts on it first hand.
> 
> AN3: Happy Birthday Liv! I hope you won't hate me after this.
> 
> Please Review and tell me what you think! :)

Ghost before the Wall

My Life is like a Wound, I scratch so I can Bleed.

Regurgitate my Words, I write so I can Feed.

And Death grows like a Tree that's planted in my Chest.

Its Roots are at my Feet, I walk so it won't rest.

Oh, Baby I am Lost…

\--------

It won't take long, any moment now, the bed will dip, then silent movements will follow. Getting dressed without as much of a whisper isn't easy, but manageable. Then footsteps, quiet and yet they cut through the silence like the chime at midnight. The bedroom door remains open, and you're thankful it does. It allows your ears to follow her feet until they reach the red leather jacket and those hideous boots she had left by the front door earlier. Holding your breath, you wait for the noise that always seems so much louder in your memory.

The faint click of a door being closed.

She's gone now, down the street already without looking back. You know she doesn't spare as much of a glance back towards the house, towards you, because you've stood at the window often enough, watching how she disappeared into the night.

Eventually, you turn, still able to feel her warmth radiating off the sheets. That's when the breath you'd held breaks through your lips. The sob muffled by the pillow pressed against your face.

It's only logical, you think, with your tears still rolling down your cheeks. That of all people she was your downfall. The one to break your curse, to take Henry and the happiness you had with him from you, the one you had to lose your heart to.

Not just the Saviour. No, it had to be the daughter of Snow White.

Silence is your only friend these days. At first you had enjoyed it, no phone calls, annoying town meetings or pointless arguments. You hadn't missed those, at least not immediately. Henry's feet hitting the hardwood flooring as he tried to sneak around the house was what you had missed first. He wouldn't come back, you knew that. Under no circumstances would he want to live with you, let alone visit you again. It was your own fault, you accepted that much. After all, you had lied to him, sent him to therapy, made him feel like he was crazy when he had been right all along. But what would have changed, if you had been honest with him?

He would hate you no less. After all, you are the Evil Queen, the ultimate monster. Not a hero, unlike Snow fucking White. Henry would forever look up to them, idealize them, everything you had done for him already forgotten.

You had hoped in the first days after the curse broke that he eventually would come, that he would ask after the why, after your side of the story, but he never came. He wouldn't come back, not for a brief visit or to collect his belongings. He would stay with them, as far away from you as possible.

Seconds tick away; fade into minutes as you lay there, still feeling her with you, next to you, within you. Your tears have dried, when you get lost in the memories of the previous night. It was pointless, you knew that much by now, but it didn't change the fact that you allowed yourself to believe her words, to hope each time. Only to have your hopes crushed again.

It destroys you, more and more. You can feel how she tears you further apart, how she shatters the remains of your already broken heart. She doesn't mean to, you know she had intended to help. At first, you had thought that's why you let her and still don't stop, let her continue because she doesn't mean to hurt you, with her charming good intentions. But that's not why you still open the door for her, catch yourself waiting for her to knock each night. You welcome her into your house, into your life and heart because she is all you have left.

It'd destroy you completely, if you continue like this. She knows this as much as you do, and that's why you have to end it, find a way to finally stop. You drove her away once; perhaps you should find a way to do it again.

Before she can.

The hot water helps, washes off her scent that still lingers in your bedrooms air, replaces your skins memory of her touch with nothing but a stinging sensation. The monotone sound of water cascading down your showers' walls helps to calm your racing mind.

You know that there is only one solution. A solution that would be good for at least one of you. Your decision had been set, the moment you had left your bed.

Your body fights, fights your decision, your heart desperately trying to overthrow your well thought out plan; love trying to weaken you once again. You crave her, and what she gives you. Shallow promises and empty words are better than nothing, are better than anything else you have. You want to give in, want to continue like this, want to love her, but you can't. Not like this.

The house – not a home, anymore - seems colder than usual as you travel down the staircase. Perhaps it has something to do with your decision, the finality in it allowing you to see the mansion for what it was worth. A cold prestige object, almost like a golden cage. Briefly you remember a poem Henry had been tasked to learn once, something about a caged bird standing on a grave of dreams. How apt. No wonder Henry never truly liked it.

Henry.

You falter, briefly. Should you try to see him one last time? Try to explain yourself to him? It's not too late, he perhaps still could— but that's wishful thinking. Henry isn't yours anymore. You're not his "Mom" anymore, no. Now you are "The Evil Queen", or "Regina". It's over. He doesn't care, believes he knows who you are, who you'll always be. Evil wasn't made, it was born, and redemption non-existent. He isn't yours, not anymore. He wasn't since the day she had brought him back, but at least then you could pretend. Now? Now your son, the boy you had loved more than anything else, the boy you had raised alone, was probably sitting at a table with the Charmings, having a family breakfast together with Emma. The thought of it alone, the perfect gathering of the perfect family, made you sick. The rush of fury eased the stinging sensation forcing itself through your chest briefly.

Lost within your thoughts, you continue to travel through the house, from room to room. All those vivid memories you have held suddenly seeming distant. First your study, then the living room, followed by the kitchen and finally your dining room. You don't remember when you've last eaten here. It was with Emma, that's for sure. Most likely the last time she had picked you up on your offer, regarding food. Without her, you don't eat, not much. And if you do, then untypical for yourself, in front of the TV, your only talking companion. For silence, you still have your apple tree, just as you had with Leopold.

Your fingers fly along the polished wood of the chairs backs, you won't sit here again with her, whilst enjoying dinner or having an almost normal conversation. Even if you would continue, she wouldn't pick you up on your offer for dinner again.

It had been a while, since you'd properly cooked. It was pointless to cook a complete meal for one alone, especially with the stack of Granny's leftovers piling the fridge. But that night, you had decided, despite all of that, to cook.

A habit, something similar to a pattern had formed between you and Emma. A dance in which you both knew all the steps. She would appear at your doorstep, every two to three days. Perhaps, you had thought then, perhaps she would stop by today. It wouldn't be the first time that you offer her dinner, but it would be the first time it was freshly cooked. You had caught yourself glancing at the clock, while you had made lasagne — Henry's favourite - you had listened for her to knock at your door once the dish had disappeared inside the oven.

Relief had flooded your system, when the knock finally came.

A slight smile on your lips, you had opened the door, had welcomed her in. She had picked up your offer of dinner without any hesitation, the delicious smell flowing from the kitchen most likely supported that. With the smile growing on your lips, you had lead her towards the kitchen, where she had, oddly enough, I taken it upon herself to find the plates and set the table.

During dinner, an easy conversation had flowed between the two of you, you had talked about everything and nothing. Neither mentioning what it actually was, what the two of you did, neither daring to address the curse, your breakdown weeks ago, or Henry. Leading her to be relaxed enough to eventually meet your eyes, honesty written in bold letters within them.

She truly was sorry, and wanted to help you, wanted to make you feel better. The always irritating Emma Swan, the Saviour that had broken your curse, had caused half of the misery you had found yourself in, cared about you.

The two of you had moved from the dining room into the living room — not the study, you hadn't been in there since your breakdown, not since you had told the blonde your side of the story, neither of you knowing what was to come. The easy conversation quickly became flirty. Surprisingly lacking their usual dark demeanour, it had been an evening without promises, without false hopes or empty words. Nevertheless, you had hoped, the steady beat of your heart, drumming in your ears as you laughed along with her.

It had seemed normal, could have been seen as a date, and not like an attempt to fix something broken beyond repair.

You had sat next to her, on the comfortable white couch, had been facing her when your laugher had filled the surrounding air. Eventually — you don't remember how anymore, but then it didn't matter, it had been bound to happen after all - you had found yourself on her lap, straddling her, with your black skirt bunched around your hips.

Time had stood still, had frozen the moment your lips had found hers. It hadn't been different from the first time when your lips had moved against hers, your heart skipping a beat just the same. With your fingers woven through her gold tresses, and hers resting against your cheeks, just like then, you had thought you had found it, your piece of heaven.

This time, you had taken your sweet time, there had been no rush. Not when you had moaned against her lips, not when her teeth had sunken into kiss-bruised flesh, not when her tongue had disappeared between your still parted lips. Savouring the moment, you had lost yourself completely in her arms, your fingers had started to roam along her skin, had wandered from her neck, along her arms, eventually settling on her hips.

You had lost your blouse somewhere up the stairs, had been crushed against the walls and banisters, with your body pressed against hers. She had lost her tank top before you had reached your bedroom door.

She had pulled you towards the bed, had found your lips again once you'd reached it. With her hands, exploring every inch of skin they could reach, you had gently pushed her down, had straddled her thighs again. You could feel her smile against your lips, when your hands had reached her hips. Your fingers traveling along the waistline of her jeans, you had taken a moment to memorize the goose bumps they had left in their wake.

Eventually your fingers had found the silver button marking the only resistance between your fingertips and her soft skin. She had helped you to kick them off, had made sure you lost your skirt in the process. Your lips captured hers, considering for a moment to never let go again.

She had taken that decision from you, her had let her lips travel along your skin. Across your cheek, along your neck, settling briefly above your racing pulse. Your head had fallen back, with your chest arching off the bed, desperate for more contact from her lips against your sensitive skin. She had granted you your wish, had given you what you had craved, with her tongue brushing against an erect nipple. A moan had fallen from your lips; your fingers had tangled in blonde hair, when her fingers had found its twin.

You had felt her smirk against your skin, had sensed her breath hitch with your thigh traveling along hers, had heard a moan muffled against your chest when your skin came in contact with soak panties. You knew then that she had wanted you, just as much as you had needed her. With a soft tug on golden curls and slight pressure against her heat, you had asked her to meet your waiting lips.

Your fingertips had whispered along her skin, had mapped their way along her ribs, had danced towards her hips. She swallowed your moan when her fingers had travelled along your waist, had disappeared beneath black lace.

You had repaid the favour, when your fingers had found the place she had needed you the most, when you had matched her pace, with your thumb pressing against her clit.

Time had been stilled again, with nothing but her mattering, she had done it again, had given you a taste of heaven.

You had worked in sync, she had met your fingers trust for trust, your hips had arched off the mattress, desperate to seek as much from her as she did offer. You knew she was close, knew she would have you fall over the edge any moment yourself.

Her lips had left yours, hovering near your ear. Your cheeks had been pressed together, had given you the feeling of complete intimacy as you both had neared the end.

Wanting to see her fall, to come undone, you had circled your thumb, had curled your fingers, had found the right spot. Her muscles had massaged your fingers, her breath had hitched, before your name had fallen with a moan off her lips.

She had tripped you over, had pulled you with her over the edge. Your moans had been swallowed by her hungry lips.

The blonde had collapsed on top of you, her head placed over your rapidly beating heart. A content sigh left her lips as your fingers wove themselves into gold tresses, playing gently with them. You smiled up at the ceiling, feeling at ease with yourself. Content and happy. That's when you made it, that horrible mistake. Looking at it now, you never should have said those words. Perhaps without them, your relationship would look different today.

I love you.

Words she had often spoken, attempting to sooth your pain. The difference between you and her voicing those three little words, were that you, unlike her, meant them.

Silence had followed your words, causing you to regret them immediately.

Emma I didn't–

You had started, never getting the chance to completely speak your thoughts. She got up right away, not looking once at you as she collected her clothes. You had followed her lead, had left the bed, the sheet wrapped around your body.

Please. Please listen to me?

You had begged, watching her helplessly getting dressed. You had run after her, taking it back, promising her to never say it again, swearing that you hadn't meant it. She hadn't looked at you, not once. She had only slightly faltered when she reached the front door.

I'm sorry, I can't.

The words leaving her lips shattered what little she had managed to fix within you. Standing there, you had stared after her, a broken no leaving your lips. The ground was pulled from beneath your feet, your world upside down once again. Your knees had given up, suddenly unable to support your weight. Tears had clouded your vision before your skin had made contact with the cold hardwood floor. Wrapping yourself further into the thin sheet, you had inhaled the scent it had still carried. The scent of her.

It's over.

You had sobbed. She was gone and she wouldn't return. It had been too perfect, had been too good, something you can't have. Not ever. Early you had to learn that nothing good, nothing perfect would stay with you. Your mother had taught you that lesson well.

She had shown up eventually, the day you had given up on yourself she had come knocking at your door, causing the spark of hope to light again. Neither of you had addressed the issue, both ignoring what had happened. Still, there had been consequences: no more dinners, or drinks, or light-hearted conversation. You talked, still, but not about anything of import, since that one night, weeks ago, your nights together had become almost monotonous. She would show up, between ten and midnight, you would offer her a drink, or something to eat despite knowing that she wouldn't take you up on your offer, not anymore. You spoke, briefly. About the weather, the slowly, finally, rising temperatures, the two of you talked, without actually telling each other anything. Despite the rather sad demeanour of your evening's beginning, you would move with her towards the bedroom eventually, clinging to her promises, to her words of hope. You had loved her no less, had lost yourself more to her with each night, only to be left before dawn, more and more broken each time.

You had believed it would work, that you could live without fully having her. You had wanted it to be enough, to just call her yours every once in a while, but you couldn't endure it. Not anymore. You wouldn't survive another night of her leaving your side, without as much of a glance back, with her acting like it was the easiest thing to do.

You had played with the idea to just let it happen, to break once and for all, but you can't. She would feel guilty, would never forgive herself. Something you couldn't do. She deserved her happily ever after. A happily ever after she couldn't have with you constantly needing her affection in the picture, so you would let go. You would give up the little happiness you had left, in order for Emma to find hers.

Quickly, a bag was packed, stored in your black Mercedes' trunk among a small box filled with items you held dear. Drawings from Henry and crafts he had made for you, pictures of happier times, along with his favourite stuffed bear. The blouse your son had lend to his birthmother behind your back and the tank top she hadn't been able to find, one night before she had left.

They wouldn't miss you, not this town, not its inhabitants, not Henry or Emma. They all were better off without you, those you loved, especially.

It still was early, early enough for a Sunday to find the streets of Storybrooke empty, so you can take your time. This place had been supposed to be your happy ending; it had been supposed to give you what you craved the most. You thought you had found it, twice, only to see it slipping through your grasp. But that didn't matter now, not anymore. It was over, that much was for sure.

Your memories remain unaffected as you cross the town, as much as you wish they wouldn't, but there was no second identity or set of memories prepared for you. No, you would spend the remainder of your life filled with thoughts about those you wanted to love you so much.

You glance back once, through your rear-view mirror seeing Storybrooke's sign disappearing into the distance, before you turn your attention back towards the route in front of you. There was no plan, not this time. You would follow the roads and highways, wherever they would lead.

As far away as possible.

You mumble through the silence, briefly considering even leaving the States. Europe, or New Zealand perhaps. Nobody knew you there, you wouldn't be confronted with a state called Maine, or the city of Boston. There you could truly start fresh, or at least attempt to do so.

Once more, your glance shifts towards the rear-view mirror; you can't see Storybrooke's limits anymore. The godforsaken town, long left behind you.

Later on, miles after you had left Maine, you would think back, and swear to have seen a flash of a familiar yellow, disappearing with a growing distance, behind you.

\-------

I try to push the colours through a prism back to white.

To sync our different pulses into a blinding light.

And if love is not the key. If love is not the key.

I hope that I can find a place where it could be.

The Happy Ending WILL come. I Promise.

Please Review and tell me what you think :)


	3. Your Anchor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bed is empty, neatly made but empty. No trace, no evidence of the past night. With a sinking feeling settling into your stomach you step further into the room. The bathroom. You think, yes she has to take a shower, you tell yourself despite the silence, despite the missing noise of water cascading down the tiled walls. Still, you check only to find her en-suite bathroom empty too. Your eyes register that some things seem to have disappeared, still your brain refuses to acknowledge said fact, pushing the painful truth as far away as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: First of all, I am SO sorry for not updating sooner. I went through some personal BS but things finally got better again and I managed to sit down and write this third chapter to 'love love love', just two more chapters after this one are missing and I'll do my best to squeeze writing into my tight Uni and Work Schedule, if everything works out I'll manage to hopefully write Fridays/Saturdays :) I'll try my best to do that!
> 
> AN2: This is unbetaed, I went through it trice, but chances are I missed typos or mistakes, please forgive me for them.
> 
> AN3: If anyone would like to hear the songs used for this chapter, and last chapter; both are from Asaf Avidan :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Please let me know what you think!

And I said baby you're my Diamond,

She said no baby I'm just a Pick.

I said well baby, you must be Magic,

She said no I'm just a, I'm just a Trick.

oOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooO ooOooOoo

In a sudden hurry you rush through the still empty streets. The town is still sleeping, she most likely besides you the only one awake. Once your beetle is parked in front of the mayoral mansion on Mifflin Street 118, you rush to the door, still finding it unlocked just like you had it left behind. This time you don't bother to take off your boots, you know she won't fuzz about it, not with what she's about to hear from you. You are calling her name, while running through the house, up the staircase and towards the bedroom she still has to occupy. You don't notice it, not then, you don't sense that something seems oddly out of place. A smile on your features you burst through the closed bedroom door, not wondering in the slightest why the door you had left open is suddenly closed. What follows is her name dying on your tongue, accompanied by your faltering smile.

The bed is empty, neatly made but empty. No trace, no evidence of the past night. With a sinking feeling settling into your stomach you step further into the room. The bathroom. You think, yes she has to take a shower, you tell yourself despite the silence, despite the missing noise of water cascading down the tiled walls. Still, you check only to find her en-suite bathroom empty too. Your eyes register that some things seem to have disappeared, still your brain refuses to acknowledge said fact, pushing the painful truth as far away as possible.

She isn't gone, you tell yourself. She can't be, but she is.

Eventually you accept that more of her belongings are gone, not much just things you know she holds dear, still you refuse to believe that she disappeared with them, not even the missing Mercedes convinces you. It's a note sitting on the kitchens counter top, five words written on plain white in the all too familiar handwriting that causes reality to settle within your mind.

It is better this way.

She has left Storybrooke, has left Henry — has left you behind.

It's your fault that she is gone you know that much, know that she would still be here if you wouldn't be such a coward, if you would have accepted what you had sensed all along.

The note clutched in your hand you wander restless through the mansion, your mind filling with the memories you had made here. They had seemed unimportant, at first. Nothing of matter, after all you only came here to sooth her, to make her feel better, and if so only for a short moment. It had been a task, something you had to do, nothing you would enjoy. Or so, you had told yourself, each time you had knocked on her door.

Eventually, subconsciously you had reached the bedroom, the last room the two of you had been in together. The paper wrinkling in your right fist, you sit down, you still can smell her, feel your skin moving against hers. Night after night you had spend here, they had seemed monotone, always the same, but now, the more you think about it, the more unique they seem to become.

oOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooO ooOooOoo

Regina?

You had let yourself in that night, she hadn't answered the door, something she had never done before. You knocked and she opened, almost as if she waited somewhere near by the white painted wood for your knock. You knew she was at home, were else could she be after all? Going out wasn't an option for the Evil Queen — former, you remind yourself. No you had noticed that Regina wasn't the woman anymore people painted her to be, she had changed and you hoped that eventually, others would agree and see in her what you could see.

Something had been up, that much was clear. You had called for her again, your feet carrying you through the spacy house. She didn't answer, or perhaps she did and you just couldn't hear it given the state she was in, when you found her. She had slurred your name, a wide smile on her features, upon seeing you entering her study. It didn't take you long to get a hold of the situation. In front of the former Mayor stood an empty glass, one that most likely had contained apple cider before, but the cider hadn't been the only cause of her rather unusual state. Besides the empty glass were packages littered across the table's surface. Packages you easily recognized as cold medication and cough drops among other things that could be found in drugstores. Your mind concluded quickly, counting two and two together.

Do you know that – that I never get ill?

She had drawled, a look of displeasure on her face. It made sense, not once in her regain during the curse she must have been ill, back in their land perhaps, but there she had magic to deal with it. Briefly you had pondered to ask her if she's sure about that, but the state your former nemesis was in, didn't call for any nasty comments, teasing or the like. So you had decided not to comment on her attempt to solve her problem with alcohol and drug store meds; a combination as you well had known wasn't the best. Instead you had taken a seat next to her, had placed your hand against her forehead to check for her temperature.

You're hot.

The 'feeling' had been missing, but you still believe that it wouldn't have made much of a difference to her then. She had giggled, something you had never heard her do, before she had slurred something that came close to 'I'm glad you think so'. You hadn't really thought about your next comment and the move that had followed it either, it had triggered another giggle, something you had suddenly felt like you wouldn't grow tired of hearing, so you continued to walk her towards the stairs, your arms wrapped securely around her weak frame. She had leaned more on you, than standing on her own, something that if you were honest with yourself, hadn't bothered you as much as you'd like to admit. Eventually you had managed to get her up the stairs and into her bedroom, something that had taken longer than what you would consider usual for the two of you, that – despite her state, hadn't been what had surprised you, it had been her pushing you away rather harshly before she stumbled into the large room's middle.

I can do that.

She had mumbled, had most likely meant to undress and get comfortable by herself to prove a point of independence, or so you had figured. You know it'd take longer, much longer than with your help, still you had let her. The still rather evident slur in her voice, and the way she stumbled and staggered across the carpeted floor of her bedroom in an attempt to get the tight skirt off she still – despite of having lost the office long ago; wore, had at least proven to be entertaining while you had waited for her to disappear beneath the covers. You hadn't dared to interfere, not sure then if you had feared more her temper or enjoyed the show. You just had let her, telling yourself that she needed this. Eventually Regina had managed to dress herself into one of those satin negligées, the kind that you thought should be forbidden for her to wear, and had snuck into bed. Then, your mind had briefly wandered had played with the scenario that had lead you come here in the first place. Briefly you had shaken your head, ridding yourself of images that were sure to play out any other night. Instead you had focused on the woman, that at one point during your difficult relationship had oozed nothing but dominance and power, things that had seemed to be missing that night more than ever,

Regina had almost disappeared completely below the duvet just her nose and eyes had remained uncovered. You hadn't quite known then what to do with her or the situation. Ideas of cooking her noodle soup and tea for the had filled your mind, the thought that this'd be too domestic for the two of you had been pushed aside, instead you had kept looking at her, not noticing how she had tried to read your expression. Regina had remained silent since she had insisted on getting changed and to bed by herself, it were her eyes that had spoken volumes then, once you had snapped out of your haze, you had noticed that she had stared up at you expectantly, with something between hope and fear written into her deep brown eyes. She hadn't been ill in twenty-eight years – if ever before. She had dealt with Henry's illnesses perhaps, but never with her own, the last thing she had wanted in that moment, you finally had realized – after what must have felt like forever to her, was to be alone. She reminded you of a child that was expected to sleep alone for the first time, in a large room without much light and with a closed door. She had been alone night after night you had spend with her, not once had she woken up next to you, sometimes you doubt that she had fallen fully asleep too. Perhaps she had just pretended to be asleep, knowing that you had been waiting for the first chance to run.

She wouldn't voice what she wanted, that much had been clear, she was still too proud to do that, something that if you were honest with yourself you had admired in her, the pride and grace she despite everything handled herself and her life with. You had followed her unvoiced plea, you had taken off your jeans and had joined her between the sheets, the soft sigh escaping her lips followed by a warm smile had been indication enough, that you had done the right thing. You had expected a thank you, something that accompanied the grateful look in her eyes; you hadn't been prepared for what had come instead.

I'm sorry.

You had been puzzled at first, and that must have shown on your features, considering that she had started to explain herself. Apologizing about how she was ruining your usual nights together, how she hadn't meant for that to happen, how she had tried to pull through despite everything, how she had failed to do that. You had been too stunned to voice anything just than, you had realized just then, how much she had believed that your usual evening program was the only reason that lead you to visit her so frequently. That's after all, what you had believed yourself, you had known that there was more, you had sensed it whenever she smiled at you gratefully, with that warm twinkle in her eyes, but you had been too scared to admit yourself what exactly it had meant. At least, you had finally understood just how much she had craved your visits and feared to lose what little she had.

She would have – quite unlike of her – rambled on forever, apologizing for things she had no control of if you wouldn't have wrapped your arms around her slightly shaking frame to pull her closer, you had know it then and you knew it now, considering Regina had quieted down the moment she had felt your lips lightly press against her forehead. Willingly she had soaked up the affection you had shown her, had pulled herself impossible closer to you before she had hidden her face in the croak of your neck, had sighed with content before she had fallen asleep.

Unlike yourself, you had stayed, so much longer than necessary. She had been asleep for quite some time, before you eventually, almost reluctantly had decided to leave her side and the bed. Instead of leaving right away, like you usually would do you had made her tea, had seen to it that it'd still be hot once Regina was awake. A few days after that, once the former Mayor had been back on track, the words that had briefly ended the dysfunctional relationship you had with her, slipped past her lips. It made sense, that after that night and the evening following it, where you had come to just check on her, to bring her soup, had given her hope.

oOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooO ooOooOoo

You had pondered after that night, if there perhaps could be something else, if what you had could develop into something other than nightly-meetings that were bound to have only one outcome, but than she had slipped. Slipped might be the wrong word if you thought about it, she had allowed herself to openly feel and hope, only to have you freeze and run, only to have you reject her in the worst way possible. Because that's what you do best, if things become serious, you run. Not knowing commitment, it's simply something you just don't do. Come to think about it, it's a wonder that you stuck that long around for Henry, especially after your sometimes almost smothering parents came to realize who you are after the curse had been broken. You weren't one for openly showing affections, you never quite learned to do so, still you tried, for Henry and for Snow and Charming. Not for Regina, not for the one you would have deserved the most, given that your heart had known all along, what you hadn't allowed yourself to admit.

It had skipped a beat, the moment the then still Mayor had stepped out of her house and run towards her—your son. You had brushed it off as surprised, shock perhaps. After what Henry had told you about her, you had expected her rushing towards him. At first, you might hadn't believed that she truly loved him as much as she claimed to, but Regina had proven again and again just how much she loved her son. She deserved more, not just from him but also you. You finally acknowledge that, now that it was too late.

It had been too much for her – finally; like Snow and Charming would claim, it had all been too much for her and so she had taken on what you usually do best. She had run, not leaving you a chance to tell her how you felt, that you wanted her as much in your life as she had wanted you in hers. No, no that wasn't quite right. She had given you chance after chance to come to terms. She had opened the door for you each night, no matter how much you must have hurt her each time when you left. You had fucked up, and that big time. Regina could be everywhere by now, but still, still you had to try.

You leave her bedroom, her house, stalk towards your beetle hurriedly. Briefly you play with the idea to stop at your parent's, to inform them and Henry that the former Queen had left, and that you would follow her, try to find her, try to bring her back, but you thought better of it. They wouldn't agree with your plan, they'd try to stop you instead of help. So a short text message is all you give them before you drive towards the towns limits, hoping desperately that she hasn't been gone too for long, that you still can catch her somehow, somewhere not too far from here.

Snow and Charming called and messaged you countless times, you didn't answer or even bother to read any of their attempts to get you to turn around. You wouldn't, not without Regina, not if she wouldn't agree to come with you. It's one text message that eventually catches your attention, it's written differently, it isn't a demand for you to come back, it's something else entirely.

Please find my Mom and bring her back, or tell her at least that I'm sorry — Henry.

Confirmed in your porpoise you continue to speed along the interstate, not quite sure yet where to look first. It doesn't occur to you then, when you decide that Boston, your old home will be your first stop on your quest to find Regina, that perhaps it's entirely too late, that perhaps she won't believe your words, and wouldn't want to come back.

oOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooO ooOooOoo

I said Baby you are my Lover,

She said no Honey, I'm just a Maid.

I said Baby, I Love You.

She said no, you're just afraid


End file.
